I Just Want to be Me
by Blueberrychills94
Summary: Three intertwining stories telling the tale of three people struggling to gain acceptance of who they are. Katniss wants to come out but fears how she will treated by her peers if she does. Madge wants her family to love her while also struggling with confusing emotions she feels over a boy she meets at the park. While Peeta must fight for his life in a desperate quest for peace.
1. Part I Katniss: A story of Coming Out

**A/N: Hi guys, this is my most recent project. It has three parts and will tell three stories that all intertwine with one another. There's no set pairing as it's a story of coping with your sexuality and the judgement you can receive from the people around you. I hope you guys still give it a go anyway :)**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

I Just Want to Be Me

Part I

Katniss: A Story of Coming Out

Boys had never been a priority for me. They had always been there, ever since I was a child, but I had never seen them as anything more as friends. More people to talk to and enjoy the company of. Even as I grew older, and rag dolls and crayons turned into lipstick and blusher, boys did not rise any further in my list of things that were important. It seemed to do so for other girls. Even when they were still scribbling with their colouring pencils they chatted about boys. Why? I was never entirely sure. They were never that fascinating.

I felt like the odd one out. There had to be something wrong with me. Why didn't I feel the same urge to chat about boys or kiss boys or hold hands with boys? Why wasn't I like the other girls? Instead of telling myself to wise the hell up, which I should have done, I decided to pretend. To play along and act like I was like them too. I wanted to be just like them. I didn't want to be different.

I told myself I fancied the boy who sat across from me in seventh and eighth grade. He was in my reading group and we both talked a lot. I had only ever viewed him as a friend but in my desperate attempt to be normal I forced myself to be attracted to him. Even when we were still only kids I somehow became convinced that this was an important thing to focus on. Everyone else was going out with each other and kissing and doing things like that. I had to do the same so I didn't stand out.

In the end, it didn't work. I discovered that I am not good at keeping up with boys. To be honest, I grew to not want to anymore as well. What was the point? Forcing myself to like someone wasn't going to get me anywhere. It would just leave me unhappy.

This wasn't how I discovered that I'm gay. However, it did help me see that boys certainly weren't an interest of mine. At first I thought that it was maybe just because I was young. But when the lack of desire or sexual attraction followed me through to High School, I began to believe that I was maybe asexual instead. I'm not entirely sure why being a lesbian didn't come into my head first. It must have been because at the time I had as much attraction to girls as I did to boys.

That was until I developed a crush on the school badass, Clove Jettison. It took a lot for me to admit to myself openly that I was gay. I had to wait a couple of months to see if it was a phase or not but when I still found myself staring after Clove in longing when she passed me in the hallways, I realized that I was a lesbian.

It's been hard to hide who I am from the people I love. My family aren't homophobic. In fact, they're extremely open to this sort of thing. However, I worry that they might not believe me or say it's just a phase when I know it's not. I've already tried waiting it out and it hasn't passed. I am a lesbian and I want to be proud of it. But to be proud of it I'd need to be prepared to shout it from the rooftops. I can't do that. Not yet anyway.

And I've never been more content with that.

~xXx~

It's been a year and a half since I realized my sexuality and I've told no one. I don't know how to do it and I'm terrified of how my friends and family would react to it. The rest of the student body wouldn't take the news well, especially the girls in my class who've been changing with me in the locker rooms for five years now. They'll most likely feel violated and have me kicked out of the class or make me change in the boys' locker room instead. The idea makes me shudder.

For the record, I haven't looked at any girl in my class in an inappropriate way. Especially not in the changing rooms. I'm not attracted to any of them, despite what they may think of lesbians we aren't attracted to every Tanya, Denise and Harriot that crosses our paths. Besides, I only have eyes for Clove, who isn't even in my registration class.

I don't know what it is about Clove but I think she's so beautiful. Her pale skin makes her freckles stand out and her dark, luscious hair frames her face perfectly. She's the peak of gorgeousness. I know that she's not like me, though. She's been dating Marvel Winters since Sophomore Year. It hurts a little to see them together but it's something I've grown to accept. I'm going to have crushes on many people who won't be gay and I've learned to deal with that. Sort of.

Despite being determined to keep it under wraps until after I leave High School, my family find out a couple of months prior . . .

I'm applying for college online when I see it there. In plain, Arial font.

Sexual Orientation

What sort of college application needs to know my sexuality? What does it matter? Would they turn me away if they knew I'm gay? Surely not in this day and age. So why does it need to know something so personal? I tap the word 'Lesbian' and continue the rest of the application. Next year they'll be asking for bereavements, honestly!

This is how my mum finds out.

"Did you complete your online application?" she asks when we're clearing up after dinner a couple of days later.

"Uh-huh," I reply, loading the dishes into the washer. "It was really invasive, though. They ask things like your political beliefs and your sexuality and stuff. I don't understand how it's necessary but I filled it all out anyway."

"What did you put?" Mum asks.

"For what?" I immediately ask back, staring at the dirty dishes intensely. She's been questioning my sexuality for a while now. I haven't been making it entirely obvious. I haven't been waving around a rainbow flag and skipping around the house singing 'I kissed a girl and I liked it'. Maybe I give off an aura . . . Or maybe my lack of interest in boys has reached ridiculous lengths?

"Sexuality," Mum says slowly.

I swallow hard. I told myself that even if I wasn't ready to come out, I wouldn't identify myself as straight any more. It's so that I'm not lying to myself anymore or pretending to be something that I'm not. However, I didn't expect to be asked so soon by my mother about such a thing. It's my fault. I shouldn't have mentioned the question on the application!

My pause is too long. My mum cocks her head, steps closer and says, "You're not gay are you?" so quietly that I barely hear her.

Again, I don't answer.

"Katniss?" Mum whispers.

I look at her, blinking back tears with annoyance. I shouldn't be crying. I should be smiling with pride and saying, "Yes mother I am gay!" not getting upset about it! I take a deep breath and nod slowly.

"Oh sweetheart," Mum says, enfolding me in a hug. "Why didn't you just say so?"

"I don't know!" I exclaim pathetically.

"You know I love you no matter what," Mum soothes, stroking the top of my head. "God made us all, despite what some may think."

I nod rapidly and hug her back, feeling like a little bit of the weight has been lifted off of my chest.

My sister finds out because I tell her. Out of everyone I know, my sister is the one person I knew for sure would be accepting of me. I had no problem telling her about being gay, it was just trying to find the right time to slip it in that made things a little bit harder. But when I do, deciding that since mum knew then Primrose should too, she simply grins and says two words:

"I know."

And I cry again.

What? Ever since I realized my sexuality, I've been on an emotional roller-coaster that keeps going up. Hopefully, it won't go down any time soon. I'd much rather sob like a pathetic little insect, delighted with being told that I'm loved and accepted, than get told to wise up and find a boyfriend. That would truly be my downward spiral.

According to Prim, I had always showed signs of being homosexual. When we were kids-she was five and I was seven going on eight-I apparently asked her if she ever wondered what it was like to kiss the models on the front of the fashion magazines. When she'd said no, I'd quickly played it off as if I had been kidding and that I didn't either. I'm surprised Primrose remembers this because I definitely didn't.

School becomes a little bit easier to deal with once my family knows about me. My mother says that I shouldn't feel obligated to say to anyone else because it's none of their business. However, I do feel like someday I will have to tell them. Not yet. I'm quite content with where I am right now.

I'm in Chemistry, copying down our homework for the weekend, when it happens. A note is dropped onto my desk. I sit up and look around, trying to find the culprit, but see no one with their head up or looking in my direction. Frowning, I open up the note.

 _Meet me under the bleachers after class_

 _~C_

There's only one 'C' in my Chemistry class.

Clove.

Swallowing my excitement, I try to think about this from a logical angle. Why would Clove be sending me a note now, so close to the end of the school year? Either she's noticed me staring at her or she needs to tell me something. It has to be the former as we've never spoken to each other before, making the latter seem very unlikely.

When class ends, I try to take my time. There's no point trying to seem overly eager. This probably isn't what I'm making it out to be. She'll ask me for my Chemistry notes or enquire about the best places in the Seam to get cigarettes. It won't have anything to do with me or my hopefully-not-at-all-obvious crush on her.

Clove is late. I kind of expected this. She's not the sort of person to show up on time, I learned that much from being in her Chemistry class for the past year. When I'm beginning to lose faith that she'll even show up, I see her. Thumping her way across the football fields with her hands shoved into the pockets of her leather jacket and her long, brown and purple gypsy skirt swaying around her ankles. My heart picks up and I look away, opening up my copy of The Thin Executioner and pretending to have been reading casually during my wait.

"Everdeen," Clove says as she ducks underneath the bleachers.

"Oh, hi Clove," I say, closing my book but holding it tight to hide the fact that my hands are trembling like crazy.

"I didn't think you'd show up," Clove replies, flicking her ebony hair away from her eyes.

"Why's that?" I ask.

"Our types don't usually mix," Clove explains.

"Well . . . I was curious," I say. "You're right, our types don't usually mix. Hence why I'm here. I want to know why you wanted to meet up."

"I could say the same," Clove answers. I frown. What does she mean? "I've seen how you've been staring at me. I want to know why. It's beginning to freak the hell out of me and it's weirding Marvel out too."

My stomach bottoms out and I nearly drop my book onto the damp grass. "Uh . . ." I say dumbly, desperately trying to think of something to say that wouldn't come off as perverted or creepy. Clove quirks an eyebrow at me, her chocolate brown eyes sparkling with curiosity. I falter and lose my train of thought. What could I possibly say that won't cause her to be freaked out?!

"Look, Everdeen, I don't care if you're a dyke but if you're trying to keep it under your hat you're doing an awful job of it," Clove says flatly.

Hearing that word. That 'd' word that is usually used in the form of a slur makes me feel enraged, even though it's the girl I've been crushing on for forever that has said it. "Do you have to be so blunt about it?" I spit back. "So what if I am? There's no need to use that awful word!"

Clove scoffs. "So you are?" she asks.

I revert back to my stuttering self as my mind blanks out at being confronted like this. "I . . . I . . . I . . ."

" . . . am?" Clove finishes.

I flush. "So what?" I snap at her.

Clove raises her eyebrows. "Nothing," she says.

"Didn't you say that you were freaked out by my staring?" I murmur despondently.

"Yeah, when I thought you were just being a creeper," says Clove. "At least you have a glimmer of an excuse now and I won't have to punch you for being a weirdo. I may be tough but I ain't no homophobe."

This takes me by surprise. Clove was never tough in the sense of popularity protecting her. She has always been tough because she knows how to break a bitch's nose if the need comes to it. It had actually crossed my mind that she was going to do that to me for staring at her in the hallways.

"Aren't you concerned for your own safety?" I ask. "Are you not worried that I'm going to perv on you for the rest of the school year?"

Clove snorts and shakes her head. She pulls a packet of cigarettes out of her jacket pocket and pushes one into her mouth, chortling as she lights it up. "As if! From what I've seen, you're staring at my face not my ass."

My fingers loosen a little around the edges of my book but I'm still gripped with fear. "Are you going to tell Marvel about me?" I ask.

"I'm not going to tell anyone about you," Clove says in response. She asks me if I want a cigarette but I politely turn down the offer.

I didn't expect her to say that. I had always believed that a secret as juicy as this one wouldn't last even a minute on Clove's lips. Maybe the beautiful girl I have admired from afar really does have a beautiful personality as well. "Why's that?" I ask unsurely.

Clove's eyes twinkle with mischief. She steps up to me, squaring her shoulders so she reaches my height and we're standing face to face. I freeze completely. My heart stops. My limbs stiffen. My breathing pauses in my chest. She smells of watermelon and cigarette smoke. The smell makes me feel dizzy.

"Because," Clove says, shoving her cigarette between two fingers and taking a long drag. She blows the smoke into my face, making my heart stutter and my knees wobble. I lean back against the bleachers' supporting beam to stop myself from falling over. "You're pretty hot yourself, Everdeen. In your own bookish sort of way."

I almost don't believe her. My jaw unhinges in shock and I stare at her, waiting for the joke or the punchline. Surely she isn't serious! She's been dating Marvel for . . . for . . . for I don't know how long! "What?" I gasp out in surprise.

"I'm no lesbo, let's get that straight," Clove snaps, crushing whatever hopes she may have resurrected within me. "However, I wouldn't might finding out . . ." She doesn't finish her sentence, as her lips have connected with mine. I'm paralysed with disbelief, not knowing what to do or how to do it. My heart has exploded, no longer in working order, but somehow I am still alive.

I'm kissing a girl! My dream girl, too! Is this reality right now or am I going to wake up at any second?

When Clove breaks away from me, I exhale like I'd been holding my breath for a thousand years. My book lies in the grass, dropped in my awestruck state. I'm still gaping, unable to comprehend in my mind what just happened. Clove doesn't seem as affected as me as she takes another drag of her cigarette and purses her lips in thoughtful bemusement.

"Well, your lips are certainly softer than Marvel's," she contemplates.

"I guess," I reply uncertainly. Even though it's a cold winter's day, I'm soaking my t-shirt with panicked sweat. I'm glad for my Batman Gotham City hoodie or Clove would definitely be able to see the internal war going on inside me through the pit stains on my grey t-shirt.

Clove sighs. She bites her bottom lip, chewing on it for a moment, before flicking her cigarette away and muttering, "What the hell." Then we're kissing again.

Not kissing. Making out.

I've never made out with anyone before, let alone a girl. I follow Clove's lead, barely able to keep up because my frantic heart is now working on overdrive and my knees are threatening to buckle completely. Her long, slender fingers are in my hair, crawling down my back to the base and drawing my body towards hers.

I can't tell you how many times I've imagined this moment. My first kiss. The first time I've ever felt like I could actually stand a chance living the life that I've grown accustomed to hiding. Maybe I can come out now. Maybe I can show people who I truly am. Maybe they'll be like Clove. Maybe they won't care. Maybe they'll like me for who I am-

Clove's phone goes off. It vibrates in her jacket pocket, causing her to pull away from me. My lips are practically buzzing with warmth. I touch them with my fingertips as Clove answers her mobile. I smile at her as she ducks her head to hear better. I'm buzzing. My heart is fluttering inside me like the wings of the butterfly. My fingers are tremble as I crouch down and pick my book back up.

"Hey Marvel," Clove purrs. "Of course I'm not doing anything." I glance up at her and frown. "I'll be there soon. Okay big boy, see you later."

As Clove hangs up, I get up on my feet again. "'Not doing anything'?" I repeat.

Clove shrugs. "Just to tide him over," she says. She grins. "See ya!"

"Wait!" I say, grabbing Clove's arm. "I . . . I'm confused."

Clove's eyebrows furrow into a frown. "Why?" she asks.

"We just . . . we just kissed. What does that mean?" I ask back. I take in Clove's puzzled expression. "Do you still intend to be with Marvel?"

"I thought that was obvious," Clove replies dubiously.

My heart, which had once taken off to soar in my chest, drops like a stone into the pit of my stomach. I feel like a fool for believing that this was genuine. I had so much faith in Clove, even though I didn't know her at all, and thought that maybe she was like me. Maybe she had been hiding too.

My life seems to be built up on maybes.

"I don't know about what sort of girl you think I am but I'm not going to kiss you while you're in a relationship," I say.

Clove stumps out her cigarette with the heel of her boot. She taps out another cigarette and shrugs. "You've never been in a relationship with a girl before," she said. "I'd thought you'd be leaping at the first opportunity for someone to suck faces with."

"I'm not like that," I say.

"How do you know?" asks Clove.

"Just because I'm gay, that doesn't mean I'm going to want to jump every female that passes me's bones," I try to explain. "I genuinely like you. I didn't . . . I didn't want to kiss you just because you're a girl. I thought you felt the same way about"-

"About _you_?" Clove scoffs. She snorts and starts texting . . . Marvel, I presume. "I'm experimenting, Katniss. I saw an opportunity and I took it."

"So my sexuality was just an opportunity to you?" I ask, deflating.

Clove snickers at something Marvel must have text her. I become paranoid that she's told him about me and now they're laughing at my idiocy together. "Look, if I'd known you were going to get anal about it I wouldn't have done it," she muttered, still not looking me in the eyes. Her phone seems to be of more importance to her than me.

"You shouldn't do that to anyone," I say, folding my arms to hold my book against my stomach and my elbows. It's like the book is protecting me from Clove's brash attitude. My own protective armour. "If I were a guy staring at you, would you have kissed me while still being with Marvel?"

"Marvel would beat them to a pulp before I could try," Clove laughs.

"Because I'm a girl, it's different?" I ask.

"He can't beat up a girl, can he?" Clove smirks.

My stomach has gone incredibly cold. Five minutes previous, I had thought that my life was changing for the better. I had finally found someone who cared, who understood who I was and didn't care. I close my eyes and shake my head. "Whatever, Clove," I say, brushing her off and leaving her alone before she sees how upset I'm becoming.

"Hey Everdeen!" Clove shouts after me.

"What?" I snap, not turning around. Tears are welling in my eyes uncontrollably and I can't let Clove see them.

"You're not going to tell anyone about this, right?"

I choke on the lump that has formed in my throat. "Don't worry, Clove. Your secret is safe with me," I say. I don't wait for a response before I run across the field, ducking my head so that my hair covers my face, hiding my tears from the rest of the world.

I am forever destined to hide.

I hold a ball of agony in my chest for the entire walk home. Every so often I wipe away a tear, cursing. I just want to live my life like everyone else can. I just want to be able to be happy; for people to understand me, not abuse me. I don't know why Clove thought it would be okay to kiss me while keeping the intention to continue dating Marvel and I doubt I ever will. All I know is that when she found out that I'm gay, she took an opportunity she thought was there and she figured I would allow her because she was a girl and I'm . . . well . . . a lesbian.

It's not fucking fair.

I practically run up the path to my house. I trip over Prim's potted plants and nearly trample my mother's vegetables. The ball of agony is growing, threatening to burst, and I can't control it any more. I barely had any restraint while I was talking to Clove.

My hands miss the lock in the door several times before the key finally jams inside. I twist it roughly, nearly snapping the key completely, and stumble inside. I slam the door shut, so hard the walls around me rattle. Safe inside my house, I gasp. My embarrassment crashes on top of me like a weight.

"Katniss?" My mum appears in the hallway, having heard me slam the door from the kitchen. The concern on her face breaks me.

The ball explodes.

I burst into tears right there in our hallway. I fall back against the door, my legs trembling and eventually sliding me down to the floor. I cover my face with my hands, feeling the wet and the misery soaking my skin. I'm so stupid. I thought she liked me. I thought maybe I'd finally found happiness. I had dared to believe that if she had been by my side then I may have found the courage to come out to the world. To come out of the shadows and show everyone who I truly am.

I'm so stupid.

I sob so hard I'm practically screaming. My mum runs to me and holds me tight, rocking me back and forth and shushing me gently. I claw at my hair, desperate to find some way of hurting myself. A way to punish myself for being so foolish. Why did I have to be so romantic and hopeful? Of course Clove didn't want to be my girlfriend. She was a straight girl in a relationship with Marvel. And given her track record, I should have guessed that she was fooling around.

Life isn't fair.

~xXx~

I sit at the bus stop in the cold. It's been months since my interaction with Clove. We haven't spoken since and I haven't so much as glanced in her direction. The only thing I can give her credit for is not telling anyone about my sexuality. She's kept it quiet, maybe out of fear that I would spill the beans about our kiss if she said anything. Nonetheless, I'm glad that she hasn't blurted it out.

The tip of my nose has frozen completely. When I cross my eyes, I can see the redness that is beginning to form there. My fault for missing the last bus. I've been waiting for the past thirty minutes for the next bus and there's still another thirty left. I rub my hands together and blow on them to warm them up.

Ever since I took my break down in the house, my mum has been concerned about me. She thinks I'm being bullied. I've tried telling her so many times that I'm not, that I'm just going through a rough patch, but she insisted that I see someone anyway. I've been put on anti-depressants.

My doctor wasn't very interested in my case. I think he thought I was just another depressed teen. He seemed to only be half listening to me and we didn't really discuss anything. He just threw a prescription for fluoxetine at me and told me to call back if there were any further problems.

A part of me wishes the drugs could take my troubles away. Snatch them up like a bird and fly away with them, never to return. However, the medication will never remove the box that is closing in around me. The overbearing, crushing, oppressed sensation I feel every day that I pretend to be something I'm not.

I don't know what I'm hiding from anymore. My environment has always been welcoming of the LGBT community. I can't think of anyone who would feel disgusted in what I am (except maybe the vain girls in my class who would claim to feel 'violated' but screw 'em).

My hand dips into my pocket and I produce my phone. Pulling up Facebook, I tap on the status box.

" _I feel like this is the perfect time to admit something. It's not because I feel obligated to or because I feel like anyone I'm friends with has a right to know because, frankly, nobody does but myself. However, in this moment in time I am perfectly happy with who I am. I am beautifully content. And I am overjoyed with the acceptance. With how this is becoming something that people are supporting and growing to love._

 _I have been openly gay for a while now. The first thing I decided to do was wait until high school was over because there's only going to be that one person pointing the finger and saying "I'm not comfortable changing with her anymore she might look at me!" which by the way, is totally unreasonable because I wanted to look at people get changed as much as I wanted to look at one the teachers get changed (which, by the way is not in a million years). But high school is now over and I just feel like now is the right time. Especially with legislation for gay marriage being passed left right and centre._

 _So yeah. There it is. And you know what? It feels like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. There is nothing harder than hiding who you are out of fear of being judged by other people. But I feel good now that I have. Because I'm proud of myself, not ashamed. I'm gay. Deal with it. And anyone who has a problem with it? You know where the unfriend button is. Because this is who I am."_

I feel a pressure lift from my shoulders. I nearly gasp in surprise at how light I suddenly feel. I watch in awe as the likes build up. Comments of love and support flood in, some from people I barely know but would say hi to in passing. I cover my mouth and gasp into it, tears of joy welling in my eyes as the support continues to stream in.

I am accepted.

I can finally be myself.

A truck rumbles by, dragging me from my shocked euphoria. I laugh with teary eyes as the wind blows my hair back. Then, when the truck has passed completely, I see her. Standing across the road, lugging a huge back behind her, is the most beautiful girl I ever seen in my entire life.

An angel sent from heaven.

When the road is clear, she crosses. Oh my god, she's coming my way. She must need to catch the bus too. The sun catches her hair as she crosses, setting her blonde locks alight and turning them a gorgeous golden colour. She's so breath taking she's left me near enough speechless.

I stand up, my movements slightly jerky with panic. Her eyes fall on me and my heart blooms like a rose in my chest. She smiles. This is it, Katniss. The beginning.

I smile back.

"Hi."

 **A/N: Katniss' coming out message is the message I myself wrote when I chose to come out to everyone on my facebook as a lesbian. The support I too received was overwhelming and amazing. The growing acceptance is fantastic, even if there still are people struggling. We just have to keep trying to reach them.**

 **Please read and review with your thoughts! :)**


	2. Part II Madge: A story of self-discovery

**A/N: I'm sorry I didn't get to update this yesterday as originally planned. My sister's engagement party was last night and I didn't get a chance to publish. Anyway, here it is! Enjoy! :-)**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

Part II

Madge: A story of self-discovery

Here's the thing: I'm gay. But I'm also not. Everyone knows the former but they don't know the latter. I feel like it can't be right. Is it even possible to be both? I feel like I'm both but that can't be right. Surely it must be my hormones confuzzling my judgement or something.

My parents have been trying to change me. They're real bible bashers. They've been in avid denial of me ever since I came out to them. I think I'm a 'test from God' or something like that. I've been going to Church Camp ever since I told them. I don't know how Father Ganway believes he'll 'fix me' but repeatedly reciting bible passages and forcing me to listen to how the Lord believes I'm 'immoral' and 'wrong' certainly isn't the way to go about it.

Why fix something that isn't broken?

I'm a Catholic, don't get me wrong. I think the bible is beautiful, just not the passages-mainly Leviticus-that damns everyone and everything. That's not God. I believe in the all loving God, not the 'you are wrong for loving the same gender' God that was created by the old men who wrote the bible post Jesus' death. I say my rosary each night and attend Church on Saturday nights, like every other Catholic in the practice.

I don't think God hates me, despite what my parents seem to believe and are avidly trying to fix. If he created me, then surely he loves me. I've been able to hold down this belief. That, despite my sexuality and background, I can continue to practice my religion with my family in peace.

And that's when _he_ comes into my life and ruins everything.

I love being in the sunshine. Whenever it's warm out, I go to the park and simply sit on the grass, feeling the rays against my face. It's a nice place to go to think or do homework or simply enjoy the peace. I sometimes even bring some bread to feed the ducks with.

School is out for the day and I haul ass up to the park to do my homework. The sunlight sparkles off the water in the pond like thousands of diamonds bobbing along with the ducks. I sigh in contentment and cross my legs in the grass. Delly Cartwright's birthday was yesterday so she brought in a huge chunk of her mammoth birthday cake to share with the class. It was triple chocolate brownie cake and it filled me up to the brim. I wasn't able to eat my lunch. I still feel full so I decide to give my sandwiches to the ducks.

Tearing chunks of bread off my sandwich and tossing it into the pond. I wonder if the ducks ever feel grateful for being fed by human beings.

"You know bread is bad for ducks."

I look over my shoulder to the source of the voice. "Oh?" I ask the man sitting on the bench behind me.

"Yeah, it messes with their digestive tract," the man replies. He stands up and approaches me, sitting down in the grass beside me.

Now that he's closer, I can make out his face. I feel a tug in my stomach and I swallow hard in a mixture of fear and surprise. He's really hot. His masculine face is of perfect proportion and his smoky grey eyes are mysterious and gorgeous. He has a short brown beard which I feel tempted to reach out and stroke.

"I see," I hum, unable to find anything else to say. I'm confused as hell.

"I don't know what else there is to feed them, though," the man continues. He smiles and holds his hand out to me. "I'm Gale."

"Madge," I say, shaking his hand.

"I always see you around here," Gale explains, leaning back on his elbows. I can't look him in the face. My eyes remain stuck on the pond and ducks fighting over my last slice of bread.

"I like nature," I say curtly. My palms are sweaty. My heart is pounding. What the hell is wrong with me right now?

"Where are you from?" Gale asks.

I frown at the ducks. "District 12," I answer. "Merchant Sector."

"No kidding. I'm from the Seam Sector."

What? Really? How could I have never known that someone as handsome as Gale lived right under my nose? I'm usually very sharp when it comes to noticing beauty . . .

. . . in girls.

There has to be something wrong. Maybe I'm coming down with something. I press my hand to my forehead. Hmm. No temperature.

"Tell me, Madge," Gale begins, "why would you come all the way from 12 to this lowly park?"

"Why would you?" I fire back, taking a risk and looking at him. He quirks an eyebrow at me and I flush. Couldn't he just . . . I don't know . . . stop looking like that? It would be of massive help. Then maybe I could pull my shit together and have a decent conversation.

"I have a car," Gale answers with clear amusement.

I roll my eyes. Of course he does. I bet it's a Ferrari or a Mercedes or something. Those are good cars, right? Whatever. It's most definitely expensive. I shake my head in disinterest and look back at the ducks. My heart has stopped pounding as hard but I can still feel its dull thumps inside of me, rattling my ribcage and making my bones jitter.

"I've been watching you for a while, Madge," Gale explains. "Every day, I come to see if you're here. And you usually are. I admire your determination."

"Right," I say slowly. "So you're a stalker?"

Gale laughs. He sits up straight again and shocks me by taking my hand. "Will you go out with me, Madge?" he blurts out.

I jolt in alarm and stare at him horror. My heart has lurched up into my throat and, in blind panic, I throw, "I'm gay!" at him. Gale's face could almost be comical, if I wasn't panicking so much. His jaw practically unhinges and his eyes bulge out of his sockets in shock. I gape at him, in shock myself. "I am so sorry," I quickly say, gathering up my stuff and standing up. "I shouldn't have been so rude"-

"It's alright," Gale says, standing up as well. "I shouldn't have been so forward."

"Don't worry about it, really," I'm quick to reply.

Gale smiles again and my eyelid twitches irritably at the thoughts that come into my head about the simple gesture. "Do you want a ride home?" he asks.

I shake my head. "No, it's okay," I answer, already backing away.

"At least take my number," Gale insists. He grabs my hand and presses a piece of paper into it. "Not to date, even though that would have been lovely. Just to chat. You're an enigma, Madge. I'd really like to get to know more about you."

My cheeks heat up and I nod sheepishly. I accept his number and stuff it into my ring binder. I can't risk looking at Gale again so I spin on my heel and plough up the hill, back in the direction of District 12.

I'm out of breath by the time I'm exiting the park, having almost ran away from Gale. I don't know what I was thinking by accepting his number. I'll just be tempted to call him and there's no use in doing that. I'll just be stringing him along. Surely there's no way I could interact with him normally. Not after the way I just behaved! For goodness sake, you'd think I had a crush on him!

But I can't have.

Am I . . . straight?

No. I've always liked girls. This is just one guy, it doesn't mean anything. It can't! I've fantasied about more girls than Gale has probably even dated! I've had two girlfriends in the past. My parents are practically chucking over holy water over my head to 'fix' me!

I'm so lost in my own thoughts that I don't look where I'm going. I crash into someone and stumble, accidentally pushing them to the ground. They grip my elbows, trying to regain their balance, but we both end up toppling onto the pavement. I bang my funny bone against the tarmac and I groan, the pain momentarily taking my breath away.

"I'm so sorry!" I say at the same time as the person I crashed into. It's a boy, about my age. He's wearing the Capitol High School for Boys uniform. I hear that's a very prestigious place and a lot of the boys there are homophobes so I tend to steer clear of them.

Scrambling to my feet, I help the boy stand and dust off his uniform. It's only when we're standing that I realize his nose is bleeding. "Your nose!" I exclaim. I throw my bag open, frantically trying to find tissues for him to staunch the flow with.

"It's fine," the blond boy mutters. He has a tissue of his own, which is nearly completely soaked with the red life liquid. He presses it against his nose and tries to skirt around me.

"Wait, are you okay?" I ask, not happy about just letting him go when I could have potentially hurt him.

He waves me off and walks on. His gait is off centre and he seems to be in some form of a hurry. I feel a compulsion to follow him but I shake it off. There's no point. We'll have forgotten about each other in the morning and he seems to have himself under control.

I return home, my thoughts mainly crowded with my confusion over Gale. When I enter the house, I dip my fingertips into the holy water font and bless myself. I can hear my mum rustling around in the kitchen but I go straight to my room. I can't discuss my puzzlement with her. She'll just latch onto the possibility of me having a crush on a boy and try to convince me that God has saved me and I've gone straight.

I chuck my bags onto the floor into my room and run my fingers through my hair. Surely, that one interaction shouldn't make me question myself. My sexuality doesn't make me incapable of recognising when a male is attractive. Yet . . . it feels different with Gale. It feels like a higher form of recognition. It resembles the feeling I got when I first laid eyes on Emeraude Toubia and my stomach felt like it was being tied into huge, tight, unbreakable knots.

Bisexuality is a thing. I know it is. But having to admit to myself that I'm not who I thought I was isn't something I'm prepared to do. I've been a lesbian since I was fourteen and between then and now I've had to deal with people telling me it was my age; it was puberty; it was a phase; it would pass when I got older. If I told people that I was bisexual, they would think they were right. They would take it as me admitting that I'm straight, when I'm not.

I unfold the piece of paper Gale gave me and stare at the random jumble of numbers written onto it. I throw the paper onto my desk and decide to ignore it for a while. I strip out of my clothes and go to my bathroom to have a shower. My head needs clearing and the only way to do that is with a hot shower.

As the hot water cascades down my back and dampens my hair, I wonder how my life would be if I was straight. Would it be easier? Would I have less worries, less concerns, less difficulties? I don't want to change. I don't want to be different from who I am now, but I'm sick of all the tribulations I'm having to go through just to reach a point of serenity.

Sexuality is a wild thing, I understand that. People have different things that they are looking for in life and trying to figure out who you are and where you stand is all part of the journey. But I'm sick of the journey. I just want to know who I am and what I want. Not knowing is exhausting.

The only time I really interact with my mum is at dinner time. For her, conversation is always dominated with their desperate quest to 'turn me back onto the path of God'. It was ok at first. I was able to deal with it; laugh it off; joke about it. But after years of it, the same probing questions over and over again becomes draining. Especially when it's from your own mum. I've tried asking her about the teachings of love everybody and do not pass judgement on others but she doesn't seem to process what I say. Maybe they believe my lesbianism clouds my thought process.

Tonight is no different, except for the fact that I don't wish to even humour them.

"Look what we found online this morning," my mother tells me at the dinner table. My mum is a good woman at heart, her intentions are just always a little skewered. My dad usually works late, which I'm ashamed to say that I'm thankful for. One pressing parent is enough for me to deal with. I couldn't handle two.

I stir the salad on the side of my chicken miserably. "What?" I ask.

Mum tips my chin up, forcing me to look at her fake beaming smile. She passes me a booklet over that she must have printed while I was at school. When I look at it, my heart sinks so far in my chest that I can practically feel it in my stomach. _'How to fix your children. St Anthony's Summer Camp to Cure Homosexuality Est. 1986._

When I look back up to my mum, the way she looks so pleased with herself ruins my mood completely. "I don't need cured," I say flatly.

The corner of Mum's mouth twitches. "Madge, we've had this discussion before," she says.

"I know we have," I reply. "And you never listen to a word I say."

"I listen to everything you say," Mum contradicts. "You're just not sure what you're saying. Media has confused you, your hormones are everywhere. It's a normal thing, sweetheart. I'm just trying to help you help yourself."

"I don't need your help!" I snap. Normally, my temper would hold out much longer than this. At least until the end of the meal, but after everything that has happened today, alongside my confusion, I just can't deal with this right now. "I'm sorting myself out, I don't need your stupid camps!"

"Madge," Mum says measuredly, "think about what God would think! Honour your mother and father!"

I scream in frustration and push away from the table. "I'll honour you when you start honouring me!" I shout back.

"I am honouring you! Look at everything I am doing for you!" Mum insists. I know she is genuinely thinking that she is helping me, and I should be easier on her because of this, but I have dealt with this sort of treatment for five years now. I've gone to the summer camps; I've listened to the priests; I've sat on a stool while my dad blesses me with holy water. I can't. I just can't. I'm finished with it.

"Why can't you let me be who I want to be?" I demand, throwing my fork down onto the table. "Why can't you let me be who I am?"

"This isn't you," Mum says in avid denial. "I didn't raise you to choose this path!"

"I didn't choose anything!" I yell back. When my mum shakes her head, I lean forward over my seat and hiss, "Tell me about the day you chose to be straight."

"Well . . . That didn't happen," Mum says, frowning with confusion.

"Exactly!" I reply. "Can't you see what I'm trying to say?"

For a moment, I think I may have gotten through to her. She sits in silence, blue eyes sparkling with what I think is realization but, a second later, I see is something else. "I am what the Lord made me," Mum tells me, her pale hand enclosing around the crucifix which she wears around her neck. "You are behaving like the child of Satan!"

I stare at her in shock. I wait for her to back out of what she just said but instead she glares at me, obviously meaning every word. My blood boils with rage and I throw my glass across the room so it smashes against the wall. Mum jumps and closes her eyes, waiting for me to leave.

I spin around and charge back to my room, making sure to slam my door as hard as I can. We've only had a spat like this once before. When she tried to send me away to a yearlong retreat where I'd have to live the life of a nun. I'd lost it and tore the tablecloth off the table before barricading myself in my room until she told me that she wouldn't make me go.

I know my mother loves me but sometimes I wonder. If my mum and dad truly loved me, they would let me be who I am and love me for it anyway.

I'm so full of rage and misery, I need someone to vent to before I explode and destroy my room. I don't really have any friends. There's only one number and it's the one I had thought I wouldn't call at all, let alone be snatching at a few hours after getting it.

Hopefully, Gale won't mind me ranting to him. He seemed like a nice guy. Or maybe he won't care at all because he'd only wanted to date me.

I stop when my mobile is open in my hand, the dial screen shining in my face. Do I want to date him? That stirring feeling has to have meant something. Maybe I should investigate it. Maybe it'll lead somewhere, maybe it won't. There's really only one way to find out . . .

The phone is answered on the third ring. "Hello?" a female voice asks.

"Hi, is Gale there?" I ask.

"No," the woman replies. "Would you like to leave a message?"

"Oh," I say, heart sinking. "It's fine. Do you know where I could find him?"

"He's out with his fiancée," the woman explains. "I'm not sure when he'll be back."

I feel the ground is going to swallow me up. I can't bring myself to even say goodbye. I press my finger against the red button and drop my phone onto the carpet. I can't believe it. I've been an idiot. Of course Gale is getting married. Of course he's an asshole. Of course I was a fool and trusted him.

I'm sick of it all.

I drag my bag out from under my bed and throw as much as I can carry into it. I'll bring all my savings and catch a bus to somewhere far from here. Away from my parents; away from Gale; away from everyone who can't accept the fact that I am gay. Or I maybe bisexual. What does it matter anyway? My sexuality shouldn't be what people judge me for. It's not me. It's not what defines me as a person. But it is a part of me that has to be accepted by the people I'm to be surrounded by.

When I thump down the stairs. My mum watches me, from the living room, judgement burning on her features as she stares. She sees the bag in my hand but doesn't say anything as I go to the front door and leave. Whatever. I don't need her anymore.

Because it's late, I sleep in the shed in the back garden. Almost like I'm the house slave or something. It's cold but I can't spend another second in that poisonous house. I prefer it outside.

When the morning comes, I head to the bus stop. Determined to go somewhere where I don't know anyone at all. I'll get by . . . By busking on the streets or bagging groceries. I'll find some way to make a living. I just can't deal with this life anymore. I want to live somewhere where I can be gay or bisexual and it isn't a big deal. I can do what I want and be who I want to be and nobody will bat an eyelid.

The bus stop is relatively empty. A van passes as I reach the pavement on the opposite side. It's so large it rumbles the ground and makes my bones shake inside of me. When it's completely passed, I see there is one person sitting at the stop. Her hands are wedged between her knees and is trying to keep herself warm.

I can't see her properly from where I stand but even from a distance, I can tell that she's beautiful. My stomach twists into knots way tighter than Gale ever made it twist. My heart begins to rapidly beat as I cross the road and I force myself to keep a neutral expression as I near her.

When I arrive at the stop, she looks up at me with mysterious, smoky grey eyes. She stands up and smiles. "Hi," she says, her voice melodic and painfully gorgeous.

What does it matter that I'm gay or bisexual? I'm just Madge. And that's all that matters.


	3. Part III Peeta: A story of finding peace

**A/N: Here it is! The final part!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

Part III Peeta: A story of finding peace

The first punch is always the most painful. It is the one that makes way for the rest. It rattles the bones and twists the stomach. The rest just pile on top, making the original pain build up into a crescendo of agony that results in you curling up into a ball and wishing for it all to be over.

Some of these beatings are brutal, others are brief just to put me in my place. According to them I deserve it and someday I will thank them when they finally manage to beat it out of me. Because to them I am wrong and everything I stand for is wrong. They're helping me though, apparently. Apparently, when I finally come to my senses I'll thank them for helping me see how wrong I've been. That how I have felt since I was five years old has been wrong. That _they_ know how I should be and in beating me they are showing me what way that is.

They feel like they have the right to determine my gender.

I have always hated the whole 'I am not your ordinary eighteen year old teen' but, in my case, I'd say it's true. For my entire life I've felt out of place. I thought when I figured out what was wrong with me, people would be accepting when I tried to change myself. You know, want me to be happy. Except, they weren't. Boy, were they angry.

My parents didn't like it. I didn't except them to be immediately happy. It was a bit of a curveball I sent their way. However, I thought they would adjust. I thought they would understand that this would make me comfortable in myself and the life I'm going to lead in the future. And, as my parents, I thought they would support me.

They didn't.

I don't care though. This is who I am. Of course, I can't go walking around putting it on display. Not yet. I can't. Not until I leave District 12 and find somewhere where people don't know me as just Peeta. I have it all planned out. When I leave school, I will leave 12 to pursue college or university in a different District, maybe even a different country altogether. Then I can change myself completely.

I didn't want the people at school to find out. I go to Capitol High School for Boys, a building stuffed to the hilt with testosterone. I didn't have any intention for any of the boys in my class to find out about my future plans. No, I didn't want them to know. I figured they'd find out in the future when I was long gone but then it wouldn't matter because I'd be happy and be living a good, honest life far, far away from them.

It was an accident. I got pushed into a corridor by someone rushing to class and the palette I took from my mother's room fell out of my backpack. Nobody knows the full story, they only think I'm a sissy, but it's enough for them to treat me like a punching bag.

They don't know that I am fascinated by being a girl.

I don't know if I want to be a girl, not completely. I'm comfortable as a boy, I am, really. There's just something about girls that peeks my interest. Not in the sexual way-I'm as straight as a roundabout-but in a different way.

I've never worn a dress, or a skirt, or any form of feminine clothing. However, when I see other girls in similar clothes, I can't help feeling like it's something I'd be a lot more comfortable in. I used to do it when I was a kid, according to my brothers (who told me this before they knew, now they deny it ever happened). I'd steal my mum's clothes and walk around my parents' room putting on a voice and trying to be like her.

I know this is who I should be but . . . nobody else seems to understand. My family think if they ignore it then it will go away. The boys at my school think they can beat it out of me. Nobody has ever said, "Peeta, is this who you want to be? Because if it is, even though I don't completely understand it, I will support you." They want me to be unhappy. They want me to be something that I'm not. I know they would be more than happy for me to pretend, to act like being Peeta is something that I am more than obliged to do. But it's not. I am painfully uncomfortable. Every day I wake up filled with dread because I know I must walk out of my room and to continue a charade that is tearing me apart bit by bit. Soon there will be none of me left to pretend with.

"I know this is hard, Mellark," Gale says, driving home the final kick before backing off. "You will be thankful for this, someday. Maybe not soon but someday."

I cough, spots of blood coating the tarmac beneath me. I nod despondently as I struggle to my feet. Gale even offers his hand, which I am forced to take or else I will fall down again. He acts like we've just sparred with each other for the wrestling team, not like he's just beaten me into the ground.

"You aren't no girl," Gloss adds, slapping me on the back even though it hurts. "You're a dude, like us."

"You better get home and clean your nose up before the Principal sees, though," Gale says. "Don't want the teachers finding out about this, do we?"

I shake my head. Not because I agree that the teachers shouldn't know that they're beating me, but because I agree that they shouldn't know that I'm a girl trapped in a boy's body. I will be dissected by the school counsellor. Or even worse, sectioned.

I try to walk home as fast as I can. My nose is bleeding like a faucet, coating my hand as I try to staunch the flow. I live a good distance from the school and if I want to be home by dinner I'd usually have to jog. However, with my hand covering my nose and obscuring my vision, I'm too worried about doing anything more than speed walking.

Even so, I still bump into someone. A girl walks into me and because I couldn't see her, I bump into her full force as well. We fall over onto the pavement and my bones rattle, my entire body still weakened from the beating. "I'm so sorry," I say, but the girl says the exact same thing over me. I peer of my hand to see a blonde girl about my age, her eyes widened with panic.

"Your nose!" she exclaims.

I don't want to dwell here in the streets, bleeding out onto the pavement, and I'm certainly not going to stop to have a conversation about it with a stranger. "It's fine," I mutter, weaving around her to walk away. She is persistent, however, I stops me.

"Wait, are you going to be okay?" she asks.

I wave her off and walk away. I'm limping a little now, the second fall having knocked the wind out of me. Thankfully, the girl doesn't follow me.

It's only when I'm half way around the perimeter of the park that I realize. I don't want to go home. My parents will show concern at first but when I explain why I'm bleeding, and why the boys beat me the way they do, their faces will turn to stone and they'll walk away. I can't deal with that again. It'll kill me.

I stop at the corner of the park and slide to the ground. The sky is turning purple and soon it will be completely dark. I don't have anywhere to go. No home. No sanctuary. No nothing. All I can do is sit here until it's late enough and hope that by the time I chose to return home, everyone will be in bed.

I can't say how long I sit there, holding my bloodied tissue against my nose long after the bleeding stopped, but it must be hours for nobody is around. Night has fallen and I know I should be getting back but I can't bring myself to move. Not yet, I keep telling myself, just a few more minutes. Except a few turns to ten, then fifteen, then twenty. Then I'm waiting another hour. Like I'm expecting a miracle to fall from the sky.

I just don't understand why they don't want me to be who I am. I'm Peeta, but I want to be Paige as well , the name I chose long ago when I thought coming out to my parents would end with smiles and displays of love and support. Back when I was naïve.

I see sparkles against the ground. Little circles that must be reflecting off the moonlight onto the ground. I look up, in search of the source, I find myself staring into the silver painted eyes of a drag queen.

I've never met a drag queen in the flesh. Honestly, I didn't think District 12 had a drag queen community. I figured the area was too conservative for that sort of behaviour.

"Honey, are you okay?" they ask me.

I nod, tissue still in hand covering most of my face.

"You don't look very okay," they say.

"Just a nosebleed," I say through my tissue.

"You're going to catch your death out here," she says, holding her hand out to me. Each fingernail is painted perfectly to replicate an animal print of some sort. I take her hand gratefully, helping her pull me up from the pavement. She still towers over me in her huge high heels and I feel very small standing beside her.

"I was just waiting," I say sheepishly.

"For what, exactly?"

I sigh and shrug. "I don't know."

She looks at me sympathetically, pink lips pursed. "What's your name?" she asks.

I frown at my feet. "Peeta," I answer.

"Pleasure," she says, taking my hand and kissing it. My face heats me horribly and my stare at my shoes grows more intense. "I'm Katrina. Well, that's my stage name anyway. Let me walk you home. Is it far?"

"Sort of."

"Eh, that's fine. I am a lonely spinster who has nothing to do on a Thursday night anyway," Katrina grins.

I nod. I don't know what else there is to do. I can't turn her down or more questions would come about why I would prefer to sit on the pavement sulking in the dead of night. "Won't your heels chafe your feet?"

"Darling, I've ran a marathon in these bad boys," Katrina replies, slinging her arm around my neck. She's very muscular and I can't help feeling sort of thin and gangly compared to her, which I know is most definitely not attractive.

"I didn't know we had a community in 12 for drag queens," I say.

"Pff, you don't," says Katrina. "I come from 2. Thought there would be a lot more fun to be had here." She pulls a face. "I was wrong."

"Have you always known that you're a girl?" I ask.

Katrina laughs. "I'm not a girl, sweetheart, I do drag," she says. "By night, I'm Katrina Royale, best burlesque dancer in the business, but by day I'm just Cato. Sexy business man with an addiction to Pretty Little Liars."

"So you identify as male?" I ask, confused.

"I don't see identification as a major issue," Katrina-Cato?-shrugged. "Call me what you find most comfortable." She cocks her head. "You seem very interested by this. Do I sense some confliction?"

"I don't know," I say. "I don't know anything."

"That's okay," says Katrina. "I didn't know either. It's best to try different things out and see where it gets you."

"I can't. Not here anyway . . ." I say.

Katrina glances at me out of the corner of her eye. She stops and pulls me to a stop with her. "Are your parents expecting you home?" she asks.

I shrug. "They barely notice I'm around," I say miserably.

Katrina's green eyes shine and she nods. "Come with me."

Katrina takes me to the B&B just on the outskirts of the inner District. I worry that I've maybe made a bad decision, just going with her like this, but if I try to run I'm sure she'll catch up with me. So I walk with her, feeling like I'm walking to the electric chair, all the way to her room on the top floor.

Her room is a bit of a mess. Clothes lie everywhere, both feminine and masculine. You'd think a couple lived in this room, even though it's only Katrina. "Excuse the mess, I'm a bit a disorganized donkey sometimes. I was supposed to meet some of my friends at that quaint little pub a couple of streets away but they had to cancel suddenly."

"Oh, I see," I say. I want to ask why she's brought me here, but I don't want to see rude which is ludicrous because any second she could lock me in a dungeon or a pit like in Silence of the Lambs.

"Give me two seconds," Katrina says, kicking off her heels and walking into the en suite.

I wander around the room aimlessly, unsure about where to go or even if I have a right to sit down or not. I go to the double bed and pick up a satin dress, as green as Katrina's eyes are. I forget that I'm not exactly alone and hold the dress against my body, wondering what it would feel like to wear it. It's not the first time I've done this. Sometimes in stores I'd wander around and look at the dresses in the women's section. The people who work there just think I'm shopping for a girlfriend, thankfully, and sometimes offer advice on what compliments shape best and what would just look tarty. I've never dared trying anything on though. I'm too much of a coward for that.

"It would suit you."

I jump in surprise and drop the dress, spinning around to see almost a complete stranger standing in the doorway of the en suite. Cato is leaning against the doorframe, wiping the make-up from his face with a make-up wipe. He's changed into pyjama pants, the only sign of Katrina having ever existed being the nail polish on his fingers.

I don't know what to say so I simply gape at him. Maybe it's because he's insanely hot. That he's not wearing a t-shirt and he has the body of a Greek god and it's making me feel flustered and confused about what to think. Yet, Katrina was pretty too. Immensely so. How can do beautiful beings coexist in the same body?

"The green would bring out your eyes," Cato explains, approaching me and picking up the dress I dropped. I hold my breath, completely in shock from how much he has changed by simply removing his clothes and make-up. "Which could be easily accented with just a little bit of eyeliner." He grins at me and holds the dress out himself, considering it from different angles.

"How do you that?" I ask.

"Do what?" he asks back.

"Change so drastically," I practically accuse. "You can't do that and still be attractive. It's . . . it's . . . unfair to the rest of us!"

Cato raises his eyebrows. "Is it now?" he says.

"Yeah!" I blurt out. I know that if I put a dress on and tried to do the same as Cato, try to be comfortable in my own skin, I'd look like a troll. And it hurts a little. It really does. Cato smiles and holds the dress out to me. "What?"

"Why don't you try it on?"

"What?" I splutter. "That's . . . that's . . . preposterous!"

Cato takes my hand and puts the dress into it. "I know you want to," he teases.

"I'd look stupid."

"No, you wouldn't."

"I really would though."

"You can borrow my corset, if you'd like."

"Uhhh . . ."

Cato looks at me seriously. "Peeta," he says firmly.

I swallow. "What?"

"I know you want to put the dress on," Cato says. "And you're right, maybe it won't fit you or suit you or your body type but that means nothing. That just means you try another one on until you find the one you're comfortable in. And maybe you won't be comfortable in any of them. Maybe you aren't into drag. The only way to know for sure is if you find out."

I know what he's saying is true. I do want to try the dress on, however I'm scared. I've never been confronted by this before. In a positive manner, that is. I'm scared that I'll like it too much and I won't be able to return to my old life because the pretending has worn too thin.

I chew on my lip thoughtfully. "How do you put a corset on?" I ask.

Cato grins. "Let's get the blood cleaned off your face first."

Cato sits me on the toilet in the en suite and suddenly becomes a hybrid of . . . well . . . himself. Bits of Katrina slip out in the way he acts and speaks as he wipes the blood from my face and unzips the make-up kit he keeps under the sink.

"You have a lovely complexion so I definitely think you need as minimal make-up as possible," he explains.

"Won't that mean I won't look as good?" I frown.

"Make-up does not equal beauty. Being confident equals beauty," Cato answers, tapping my nose with the end of his lip pencil.

My heart beats with excitement as Cato applies a bit of make-up to my face, explaining to me everything he is doing and why he is doing it. When he's finished, he tells me to stand up for a moment. I do, confused by why he wants me to do this, and feel a little vulnerable as he scrutinizes me.

"Want an honest opinion?" he asks.

I nod, immediately worried about what he's going to tell me. I keep thinking he's going to tell me that I'm not cut out for this. That I'm too scrawny and boyish and that I'd never suit the lifestyle that he leads. "Okay."

"I don't think you need the corset."

"Why's that?"

"Because you're very thin and tugging in any more would create an unrealistic body image," he tells me, making the shape I would become with his hands. "There's hourglass figure then there's I'm-seconds-from-passing-out figure."

"Do you wear it?" I ask.

Cato shrugs. "I haven't exactly got the most feminine of figures myself," he says, gesturing to the washboard abs I've been avoiding staring at ever since he took his Katrina gear off. "But I don't have the flat stomach that you do. If I didn't wear it, my friends here would show through my dress." He pats his stomach and grins goofily. "I never tie too tight, though. I'm not one for creating unrealistic images of myself, either."

I should be taking notes, really. I nod in understanding. "I suppose we could try it."

Cato helps me put the dress on, tying the laces up at the back and even pinning it in different places because he keeps having 'fashion visions' and wants to keep the ideas in mind for later when he is trying something new himself. "I have just the wig to suit you, too," he says proudly, ordering me to close my eyes so he can put it on for me.

The wig holds weight and I nearly topple over when he puts it on me. Cato steadies me by grabbing my arms, and stands me in front of the mirror. When I open my eyes, I'm shocked by how . . . good I actually look. I try not to burst out crying, because it will ruin Cato's make-up job, but I can't help it and a few tears drip out.

"You don't like it," Cato states, sounding upset.

"No, I love it," I reply, trying to stop myself by carefully dabbing my eyes with my fingertips. "Really, I do. Maybe a bit too much."

"That's great, I'm glad to hear it," Cato says, giving me that goofy grin in the mirror again.

I look at my uniform, which lies on a heap in the floor. "Have you ever wanted to run away?" I ask.

"Many times," answers Cato. "Why?"

I shake my head. "I don't want to go back." Cato takes my hand and walks me back to the main room, seating us both on the bed so I can explain. "They don't want me to be like this. They just want me to be a butch boy who plays football and dates the head cheerleader and can spit a mile at a time."

Cato laughs. "I'm assuming we're talking about your parents?" he asks.

"If they saw me like this they'd have a heart attack," I say miserably.

"It's their loss," Cato replies. "I personally think you look divine. Especially in that dress, I knew it would be perfect for you."

"Not everyone is like you," I insist. "Especially not here. I feel like they're days away from getting out the pitchforks and starting a mob against me."

Cato plays with my fingers, his animal printed nails still pristine and perfect. "Is there anywhere you can go?" he asks.

I shrug. "I have an auntie who lives in District 2," I say. "She's a lesbian and lives with another woman. I think she stopped visiting because she used to buy me Disney Princess dresses for Christmas and my mother banned her from ever coming back."

Cato whistles. "Harsh," he comments.

"Tell me about it. I don't even enjoy what I'm doing in school anymore," I explain. "I don't know what I'm doing with my life but whatever it is, I ain't happy with it."

"Here's the thing," Cato begins. "I'm from District 2 and I'm heading back tomorrow. If you want, you can come with me and we can find your aunt. I'm not saying it's going to work out but it's worth a shot, right? Especially if it means you'd be happier with her."

My heart picks up a little with excitement. "You think it'd work?" I ask.

"I'm not promising anything," says Cato, "and I'm only offering because you say your aunt is from there. I wouldn't steal you away after knowing you only a few hours if you didn't have anyone there to take you in."

I nod rapidly. It's not a permanent plan but it's a start. I'm eighteen, I'm entitled to leave whenever I want to. And I haven't seen my Auntie in years because of my mum's ban. I'm almost 100% positive that she would be welcoming of me, even if she knew what I wanted to do in my free time.

"Let's do it."

~xXx~

I walk with Cato the next morning to the bus stop. Cato let me wear some of Katrina's clothes and I feel empowered walking through the streets in them. I'm also wearing the wig from last night, the blonde hair cascading down my back in a waterfall of ringlets. My hand is intertwined with Cato's-he painted my fingernails pink last night with my forefinger painted black-and the heels of my shoes clink against the pavement with every step I take.

People stare. Yeah, I even think some of them recognize me through the hair and the make-up (not surprising, since it's still minimalistic). It'll only be a matter of time before my parents hear of it. By then, however, I'll be long gone. I don't have anything except the clothes on my back. Cato has his duffel bag which he promises to let me hoke through when we get to 2 to try on more clothes.

Cato pulls to a halt near the bus stop. At first I think it's because he recognizes the brunette girl already sitting there so I stop too and look at him in confusion. He touches my face, his thumb touching my bottom lip gently. "Are you sure about this?" he asks.

I nod. "I'm sure."

Cato leans forward and kisses me. I mould into his strong body, my hands laying on his chest in complete submission and acceptance. When we part, my lipstick has smudged onto his mouth. I giggle and try to wipe it off with my thumb, however when it's all gone he kisses me again in defiance, purposely getting more lipstick on his face.

I laugh and smack his arm. When we start walking again, I see that someone else has joined the brunette at the stop. They're both standing, talking it seems, and when we near I realize that the new girl is the same girl I bumped into yesterday. She turns around and blinks in surprise. "Hey, I saw you yesterday," she says.

I panic, my hand tightening around Cato's in preparation for slurs and insults.

"I love your lipstick, where did you get it?" she asks me.

I relax and, overwhelmed with relief, gesture to Cato with a smile. "It's his, actually."

The brunette holds her hand out, which I promptly shake. "I'm Katniss," she says.

"Oh, and I'm Madge," the blonde girl adds.

"I'm Cato," says Cato. He grins. "By day."

Katniss raises her eyebrows and smirks. "Oh?" she asks. "And by night?"

"Katrina Royale," Cato replies with a wink.

"Oh my god, I know you!" Katniss exclaims. "You're amazing, I love your show!"

Cato takes a small bow. "Why, thank you," he says.

Madge reaches out and touches Katniss' arm. I wonder if there's something going on between them two . . . She smiles at me, comfort and warmth in the simple gesture. "And you?" she asks me.

I flip my hair away from my face and smile, brighter than the sun itself. "My name is Paige, but you can also call me Peeta."

It may be difficult, but I just want to be me. And that's just what I intend to do.

 **A/N: Going to a drag show is on my bucket list. It HAS to happen.**

 **Please review with your thoughts on this final chapter and the book on a whole! Thanks :)**


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